


Hand-Me-Downs, Leftovers

by yet_intrepid



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Freshman Keith, Gen, Grad Student Shiro, Keith and Shiro are Adoptive Siblings, What Are Sleep Schedules, broganes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 13:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10219466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yet_intrepid/pseuds/yet_intrepid
Summary: “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better,” says Keith.“I’m not lying,” Shiro says. He takes a bite of his pizza; Keith mirrors him with the burrito. “Every step is a good step.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Watsky's "Sloppy Seconds," which I highly recommend you listen to bc it fits the fic really well!

“Keith?” Shiro mumbles, stumbling out of his bedroom into the dark kitchen of their apartment. In the dim light of the microwave, he can barely make out the familiar outlines of the furniture. “What the hell, buddy?”

“Sorry,” says Keith. He hits the off button on the microwave before it can beep and opens the door, pulling out a microwaveable burrito. “Didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Shiro says. “It’s just—you’re up late, is all.”

“It’s my essay.” Keith wraps the burrito in a paper towel and takes a bite, wincing at how hot it is. “I can barely even get started. Man, I just hate this class.”

Shiro grunts sympathetically. “Do we have anymore of those burritos?”

“This is the last one,” says Keith, as he swallows. “But there’s leftover pizza.”

“I think I’m going to work on my dissertation, since I’m awake.” Shiro stumbles over to the fridge and grabs for the pizza box. It’s empty after he takes two slices, but he can’t be bothered to take it to the recycling at 3:43 in the morning, so he shoves it back in the fridge.

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” Keith says.

“You think my PhD was a terrible idea in general,” Shiro points out. “Come on, it’ll be nice. We can keep each other company.”

Keith grumbles, but he takes his burrito over to the table where his laptop is and flips it open. Shiro sets his pizza down on the bare table, not bothering with a paper towel, and heads back to his bedroom to grab his own computer.

“Tell me about your essay,” he says, when he’s gotten set up and opened his dissertation file. He works better when he can multitask, anyway, and listening to Keith’s homework is something he can almost do in his sleep by now. Which is good, because he is actually, in fact, half asleep.

“It’s a stupid rhetorical analysis,” Keith says. “That ethos, logos, and pathos shit. And the teacher gave us this template for every paragraph that we have to use and I just want to die every time I look at it.”

“Template?” Shiro asks, passing over the death comment for the moment. It’s a bit too relatable for him to call Keith out on it, and he doubts either of them has the energy or time for an in-depth vent session right this moment. “Can I see it?”

Keith shuffles some papers around. “Fucking--” he mutters to himself. “All these goddamn handouts.”

“Is it on Blackboard?”

“No,” Keith says, “because this teacher is an asshole. Never has digital copies of fuckin’ anything.”

Shiro hmms sympathetically. He types two words on his dissertation, which he realizes he left in the middle of a sentence last time he worked on it, then backspaces them.

“Got it,” Keith finally says, after shuffling through two entire packed folders’ worth of papers. “God, Shiro, why can’t I be in your class?”

“Conflict of interest.” Shiro peers at the template. “This is terrible. There’s no reason that your quote should have to be the second sentence of a paragraph every time.”

“Right,” Keith says, “like, even I know that. Like I know I’m a shit writer but even I know that.”

“You aren’t a shit writer,” Shiro says, his brow creasing. “School is for learning, Keith; you can’t be expected to be perfect at every part of it right away.”

“Yeah, well, that’d be nice,” Keith says, “but I am expected to be. Or at least Professor Harris expects that.”

“Well,” Shiro says, “then Professor Harris is a piece of shit.”

Keith laughs, sudden and sharp and a little bitter, but the smile that comes with it makes Shiro’s heart melt. God, he thinks, this kid. If he could keep Keith from everything shitty in the world, he would do it, no matter what it took.

_Do you know I’d give anything to make you happy,_ he wants to say; _do you know what you’re worth? Do you know what it means to me that we can sit here eating junk food at three in the morning, safe, taking care of each other? Do you know what it means to me that you’re my brother?_

“What do you have so far?” he asks instead, because something in his gut tells him that Keith will be uncomfortable with affection so freely and frankly given.

“Uh,” says Keith. “I put on the header?”

“That’s a good start,” says Shiro.

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better,” says Keith.

“I’m not lying,” Shiro says. He takes a bite of his pizza; Keith mirrors him with the burrito. “Every step is a good step.”

“It’s not _enough_.” Keith wipes a hand savagely across his mouth, then across his eyes. “I hate school. I’m going to drop out.”

“You don’t always hate school,” Shiro reminds him. He reaches out, runs a hand through Keith’s hair. “This class is hell, yeah, and that’s not fair. But you like your math classes, you like your science classes. You’re doing great in those.”

“It won’t matter if I fail this one.” Keith’s breath catches. “If my GPA goes down that much, I can’t stay in the major. And I got a C on the first essay, and I can’t even write this one at all, and I’m going to flunk out, Shiro, and then what?”

“If you flunked out,” Shiro says, slowly, “it’d be okay. I’d still be here. You know that, right?”

Keith breathes in, then out. He shakes under Shiro’s hand on his shoulder. “I don’t wanna disappoint you,” he says at last.

“Keith,” says Shiro, “look at me.”

It takes a minute. Keith’s hands fidget in his lap, then cover his face. Finally he peers at Shiro through his fingers.

“There is nothing you could do,” Shiro says, gentle but firm, “there is nothing, that would make me disappointed in you. There is nothing that would make me less than proud to be your brother. You could fail this paper, you could fail this class, you could drop out of school. I’d be here. I’d still be here. I’d still eat cold pizza with you and listen to you complain about my dissertation. Listen to me, Keith—I care about your education, yeah. But I care about you more.”

Keith looks away. “I don’t wanna drop out,” he says.

“I don’t think you will,” says Shiro. “But if you do—listen, Keith, it won’t change how I think of you. It won’t change a thing.”

Keith hesitates. Then he looks up, the tentative smile creeping back onto his face. “What if I stole your pizza,” he says. “Would that change how you think of me?”

Shiro laughs. “Finish your burrito first and then we’ll see.” He types two more words on his dissertation, and this time he doesn’t backspace them. Keith, beside him, stuffs the burrito in his mouth. He may not be writing yet but he’s smiling and eating and here, and that’s what matters. That’s what matters.


End file.
